<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Coyote Ugly by LumosLyra</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793029">Coyote Ugly</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumosLyra/pseuds/LumosLyra'>LumosLyra</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Hangover, Morning After, One Night Stands</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:55:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793029</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumosLyra/pseuds/LumosLyra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The sunlight is streaming through the windows of what she suspects is a bedroom, but she wouldn’t know because her eyes are still tightly shut, guarding what brain cells she has left from the offensive overly bright rays. </p><p>Last night was a mistake.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sirius Black/Lavender Brown</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Coyote Ugly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/gifts">msmerlin</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She is so fucking hungover. </p><p> </p><p>The sunlight is streaming through the windows of what she suspects is a bedroom, but she wouldn’t know because her eyes are still tightly shut, guarding what brain cells she has left from the offensive overly bright rays. </p><p> </p><p>Last night was a mistake. </p><p> </p><p>Clearly.</p><p> </p><p>Well, the sex didn’t seem to be a mistake, but the extra three shots of tequila and the third jack and coke - that, that was a mistake. </p><p> </p><p>Flashes of what happened last night lights her mind up like bright flashes of lightning in the middle of a thunderstorm and she throws an arm over her eyes in a paltry attempt to block out the fireworks happening behind her eyelids, but it’s futile.  The world spins and all of the fireworks spiral out of control and she feels like she wants to vomit. </p><p> </p><p>She fucking hates the spins.</p><p> </p><p>She knows she came home with a man - probably to his home or flat or maybe even a hotel because the sheets are softer than she could ever afford and the comforter feels plush and downy where it covers her hips.  The scent of him clings to the sheets - leather, tobacco, and something distinctly masculine and it smells so fucking good that she wants to roll over and find the source but doesn’t dare move. </p><p> </p><p>If she moves, she’ll vomit. </p><p> </p><p>That’s the absolute last thing Lavender needs - vomiting in a stranger's bed while attempting a cuddle.  </p><p> </p><p>She should probably just sneak out of the flat-home-whatever and pretend like last night never happened.  She’s probably in some awful coyote ugly situation like when she managed to accidentally go home with a brother of Vincent Crabbe’s.  She vowed never to drink tequila again after that night but Parvati Patil is a shite friend and kept feeding her shots so here she is, in bed with yet another probable stranger who probbaly looks like a fucking horse, or a foot, or a troll.  </p><p> </p><p>She makes a mental note to hex her friend when she sees her again - if she ever makes it past coyote ugly and out of this bed. </p><p> </p><p>The bed shifts and she freezes.  </p><p> </p><p>He’s awake.  </p><p> </p><p>And apparently not nearly as drunk as she is because he gets out of the bed and she doesn’t hear him falling against any walls on his way to loo so either he’s had a lot of practice walking while hung-over or he’s mostly sober.  She only knows he ends up in the loo because she can hear him as the stream hits the water. Even that small sound makes her head ache and she tries not to think about exactly what he’s doing in there despite the fact that her mind goes straight to his cock.</p><p> </p><p>Lavender hears the sound of something that sounds like glass, each clink bouncing off of all of the hard surfaces and stabbing her straight in the frontal lobe as the toilet flushes and the soft padding of feet taps against what is probably wooden floors. </p><p> </p><p>Comfortable bed.  Soft sheets. Wooden floors.  Glass clinking. Definitely not a hotel.</p><p> </p><p>“Mornin’ love,” he mutters in a half-yawn. </p><p> </p><p>She grunts, still not daring to open her eyes.  Lavender can only imagine what she looks like right now.  Make up smeared, tangled blonde curls, tits on display. She doesn’t even care that  he’s probably ogling her breasts but it’s too fucking hot to have the blankets cover more than her hips and if she gets any warmer the bile in the back of her throat will turn into full blown nausea which will in turn, make her vomit. </p><p> </p><p>“Potion’s on the table,” he says, his voice rough and deep and way too fucking sexy. She shouldn’t want sex right now but Merlin, Morgana, and all of the Fates if her cunt doesn’t begin to throb just at the sound of coyote ugly’s voice. </p><p> </p><p>The hand not covering her eyes manages to fumble around and grab the small, familiar bottle, fingers wrapping around the curve of the glass and popping out the cork stopper.  “You’re an angel,” she croaks before tipping the liquid back and swallowing the foul tasting liquid in one go. Tastes like shite going down but it’s infinitely better than the alternative. </p><p> </p><p>She feels the bed sink down again and a weight settles over her stomach and she realizes he’s fucking cuddling her.  She can feel warm puffs of breath against her cheek as he quietly breathes, his side pressing against her arm and his arm wrapped around her waist. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t remember much from last night but she remembers the sex.  How he held her up against the wall as he drove into her. How he cupped her cheek in his palm and kissed her like she was the most precious thing in the world.  How he reddened her flesh with his palm, his teeth, and the pads of his fingers as he spanked, nipped, and pinched as though her body was a treasure map and he was marking his territory. How he buried his face between her thighs and drove her to heights she didn’t even know were possible. How she took his cock down her throat and how he made the most wonderful sounds when she did. </p><p> </p><p>She whimpers at the flood of memories and she doesn’t even fucking care if he looks like a troll because the things that man could do with his cock were enough to make her never want to leave this bed.</p><p> </p><p>As her headache starts to subside and the nausea dulls, she removes her arm from over her eyes, slowly letting the light filter through her eyelids before they flutter open, revealing the shadows of a bedroom and curtains that flutter in the warm, spring breeze. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t dare turn her head to look at his face out of fear of recoil if he does in fact look like a troll, but her eyes wander to the arm draped across her midsection.  It’s tanned, tattooed and sparsely covered in dark hair and she follows the curve of muscle to his shoulder and up the line of his neck. It takes time and she savors every inch of him, marveling at the small, silvery scars and starbursts lining his torso and the dark inks of runes, constellations, and a strangely adorable set of paw prints.</p><p> </p><p>Of course he’s fucking gorgeous - all aristocratic lines, dark hair, and thick brows.  A five o’clock shadow covers his jawline and she hopes it looks like that all of the time. </p><p> </p><p>So much for coyote ugly.  </p><p> </p><p>She’s managed to fall into bed with Sirius Black.  </p><p> </p><p>Eligible bachelor.</p><p> </p><p>Senior Auror.</p><p> </p><p>Dreamboat. </p><p> </p><p>With the way he looks and the way he fucks? She’s never leaving this bed, not unless he physically levitates her out of it and sends her through the floo. </p><p> </p><p>She lets her manicured nails trail over his forearm and he tugs her closer, his front pressed to her back and she feels his morning erection cradle itself in the seam of her arse like it was meant to be there.  He murmurs something against her shoulder that she can’t make out but with the way she whimpers when he begins to kiss and nip at her probably bruised neck, she couldn’t care less what he actually said as he long keeps doing that. </p><p> </p><p>He can do that to her for the rest of her life, for all she cares.  </p><p> </p><p>Lavender Black has a nice ring to it. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>